What We Have, When We Have It
by KatieThomas'95
Summary: Inspired by the deleted scene from Civil War, set during and after Winter Soldier. Natasha doesn't remember much from her life before the Red Room, and what memories she does have she can't be sure weren't implanted by her handlers. But an encounter with Peggy Carter brings old wounds to the surface and sets her on the path to find out what she had and what she lost.
1. Chapter 1

A/N this will be a short story inspired by the Civil War Nat/Cap deleted scene where Nat mentions she visited her parents' graves, combined with my own little headcanon regarding Nat's origin. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Natasha was no fool; she had backed up a lot of SHIELD data from the Lemurian star- it's a good habit to get in to after all- but she had also retained a copy. She knew first-hand what it was to blindly follow the orders of an organisation; she had vowed never to do so again. And having looked through some of the data, she was deeply troubled. Suspicions grew in her mind, things she was loathe to consider for fear of their implications but her logical mind refused to let her turn a blind eye. And Nick was not picking up her calls, something she found to be particularly upsetting.

It was in this uneasy mind-set that she knocked softly on the door to Peggy Carter's room. She didn't want to disturb Steve, but she was his ride and she had questions that needed answers- answers she couldn't get here. She opened the door carefully, hearing coughing. "Steve." She said quietly, "I'm sorry, I need to head in to-"

"Natalia?" A voice rasped. The elderly Agent Carter had turned her head to look at Nat; her eyes wide in recognition and disbelief. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost. Nat felt a cold shock of adrenaline flash through her. She had grown up hearing the Red Room's stories about the formidable Agent Carter; the few times they had met had been deeply unsettling for her. "It's really you." Peggy said again, her voice stronger this time.

A sense of foreboding stirred in Nat's chest but she seamlessly pasted a smile onto her face. "Hello, Agent Carter, it's been a while."

"Nicholas must have got you out. I knew he'd make the right choice." It seemed Peggy murmured that more to herself than to anyone else and she had a proud smile on her face. Looking up at Nat again, she asked, "What about your sister, is Irena doing well?"

Nat's stomach had clenched into a cold ball. In the back of her mind, in the haze where snippets of deep covers and Red Room memories and something even older hunched down in the dark, something flickered like a candle poorly sheltered from the wind. She could feel the colour leaving her face. She couldn't speak, any words froze in her throat, kept silent by a sudden whirlwind of questions. She forced her mind to calm, thinking it through logically. Carter must have her confused with someone else; she knew that Agent Carter was battling with dementia these days.

Even so, her unease refused to settle. Agent Carter coughed suddenly, deep hacking coughs that took her breath away. Once she was breathing normally again, her eyes showed no recognition of Nat, instead finding Steve. They widened in joy. "Steve!" A smile broke like sunlight across her aged face, "You're alive! You came home!"

Steve took her hand and squeezed gently, "Of course, Peg. I couldn't leave my best girl, not when she owes me a dance." He smiled. Peggy was exhausted as she squeezed his hand back; her eyes were drooping shut. But that smile was still on her face.

* * *

Natasha was deep in thought as they drove back to the city. Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Steve asked, "Your name is Natalia?"

Natasha did not answer right away, although she could feel his eyes on her, waiting. "Once, a long time ago." Her handlers had called her 'Widow', to SHIELD she was Romanoff. Grief welled in her throat as her thoughts lingered on James, the last person to call her Natalia in almost twenty years.

"Why do you think Peggy called you Natalia?" Steve asked with genuine concern.

"I don't know." Nat snapped in reply, her fingers clenched around the steering wheel. Then she relented. "I'm sorry, Steve. I don't know" She said, her voice gentle this time. "A storm is coming, I can feel it. Whatever just happened is not the top priority now."

"You must have questions though?"

Natasha felt a hard edge of steel enter her voice as she replied, "Oh I have questions. And Nick had better have answers when I ask them."

* * *

Natasha remained sitting until she and Nick were the only two remaining in the room. She didn't hide the hostility in her eyes as she looked over to him. "You would have done the same." He repeated quietly.

She nodded. "I know." She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "I went with Steve to see Agent Carter." She watched closely as Nick's eyes narrowed by a fraction. "She knew me."

"Of course she knew you-" He tried to explain but Nat cut him off, her voice cracking like a whip.

"Don't." She shook her head, her voice quieting. "Just don't. She didn't know _me_. She recognised _Natalia_." She sighed internally as resignation flickered across Nick's face. "Right now we have a job to do. But when it's done, you and I are going to talk."

* * *

A/N I expect this story to have two more chapters, but in the meantime please let me know what you think so far.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N welcome to the second chapter and thank you for the support i've had so far with this fic. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

"You might not want to pull on that thread."

The bitter taste of hypocrisy had not been lost on her as she said the words. It was not lost on her now as she approached Fury.

"Let's talk, Romanoff" He said, starting to walk down one of the many paths that wound through the cemetery. They walked in silence at first, and Nat was grateful for the time to order her thoughts. It hurt that he had kept things from her, that he hadn't trusted her. But when Pearce had threatened to put a hole in her sternum, Nick had lowered his weapon first. That was important.

Eventually she sat down on a stone bench. Nick sat next to her. "How much do you remember of your family, Natasha?"

Her eyes flickered towards him, but he was not looking at her. She joined him in staring straight ahead. "Just bits and pieces. I'm not even sure if they are memories, or something my subconscious dreamt up." She left it unsaid that she feared they might have been memories implanted by the Red Room. "I remember a man singing to me by a fire. A woman with grey eyes who would stroke my hair as I fell to sleep. I can't see their faces, no matter how hard I try." She paused again. Memories or not, she cherished them, for all that they left her with an alien longing aching in her chest. Others she did not. "I remember a fire, and screaming. No more than that."

Nick didn't say anything as he took out a folder from within his coat and handed it to her. He began to speak again as she opened it. "Your mother was Yelena Kuznetsova, she was a scientist. She worked for the Reds in the seventies and eighties; one of her projects was another Soviet attempt to recreate the super serum."

She looked up at him sharply, dread creeping up on her.

Nick finally turned his eyes toward her. "When she found out what her serum would be used on, who it would be used on, she reached out to Peggy. She offered her information in return for refuge in America."

Her hands trembled as she continued to turn the pages of the file. She recognised most of the protocol numbers, most of the chemical formulas. She had read her own files; she knew the chemicals they had flooded her body with as a child, she knew their results. And now as she learned that her mother had designed them, she felt hollow. "What happened?"

"She disappeared. When the time came for her to flee, she never showed. We heard nothing more for almost 10 years. Then in early in '91, she made contact again. She'd spent nigh on a decade in hiding; by then she had a husband and two daughters."

"I had a sister." She murmured, "Irena."

Nick nodded. "Yes, three years your junior."

"Why did she contact Carter again?"

"She thought the KGB had found her again and she was right. Peggy hadn't been in the field in years but she assembled a team and we made our way to Samara, Russia."

"'We?'" she asked sharply.

"Yes. I was there. We were a team of four agents; Peggy and I were to make our way to your parents' house to extract you and your family, the other two were to remain in the village to keep our exit clear and radio us with any changes." He sighed heavily. "We arrived too late."

 _Natalia was playing with little wooden animals with her father by the fire when she heard a knock at the door. She watched as her father looked suddenly afraid and glanced towards her mother. Her mother got up from the table where she had been coaxing little Irena into eating some gloop. Smoothing down her dress, she walked out into the hallway. Natalia listened to the front door open and someone say in a strange accent, "Are you ready to leave?"_

" _Of course." Her mother replied. "Misha, it's time." She called back into the house. In an instant her father was gathering up her toys._

" _Tasha, do you remember Mama and I were talking about going on an adventure?" He asked her softly. Natalia nodded uncertainly. "Our adventure starts tonight." He said with a smile. But his smile did not match what his eyes were saying. His eyes said that he was afraid. His eyes made Natalia afraid. But she was a brave girl, Mama always said, so when he told her to run upstairs now and fetch down the bags that she and Irena had packed weeks ago, she did._

"I still remember the first time I saw you. Not even four feet tall, when you bounded into the hallway you stopped dead and looked at us so suspiciously." He smiled for just a second. "Then you ran upstairs so fast I was amazed that mane of red hair managed to stay on your head." When he glanced at her, she was looking at him in dismay, as though he had become a stranger to her.

"You and Peggy were talking with my mother in the living room when I came back down. My father was holding Irena on his hip. She was crying." Her voice was no more than a strangled whisper as memories flooded back.

 _She stood uncertainly in the doorway, a small pack in each hand. Papa was hushing little Irena. Mama was talking urgently with the two strangers but then she stopped suddenly and listened. Natalia listened as well; she could hear a car outside._

" _More of yours?" Mama asked the woman sharply. She was pale now. The woman shook her head. "They've come." Mama said softly, making Natalia scared. Mama knelt down in front of her. "Natalia, I need you to be brave for me now, can you do that?"_

 _Natalia bit her lip but nodded._

" _You and your sister are going to go with Agent Carter. Papa and I will be right behind you. But whatever happens, you stay with Agent Carter and Agent Fury, do you understand?"_

 _Natalia nodded again, very scared but trying to be brave._

" _Promise me, Natalia. Promise you'll stay with Agent Carter." Her mother looked her in the eye._

" _I promise, Mama."_

 _Her mother's eyes softened and she drew her into hug. "Oh my brave girl." She buried her face in Natalia's hair. "We love you so much. Remember that."_

Tears traced slow tracks down Natasha's cheeks. A well of grief long forgotten ached in her chest. "She told me to stay with Carter. A vehicle was pulling up outside, not SHIELD."

Nick nodded. "The KGB arrived. You and your sister came with Peggy and myself through a tunnel in the cellar. It lead out into the woods. Your parents stayed behind to buy us some time." He shook his head regretfully.

"What happened, Nick?" She thought she knew already but she needed to hear it.

"We made it into the woods. Peggy was carrying your sister, I was holding your hand as we ran. I thought maybe we had a chance. But then we heard gunfire followed by an explosion. I tried to hold on to you, damn if I didn't try." He held up his hand, and not for the first time Nat noted the two dotted scars between his thumb and forefinger. "Even missing both your front teeth that was quite the bite you were packing."

 _Natalia stopped as she heard a loud boom behind her. Trying to yank her hand away from Agent Fury, she turned back to see flames leaping into the sky. "Mama!" she screamed. She tried to run back towards the house but the man tightened his grip on her._

" _Nick, come on!" Agent Carter shouted._

 _Natalia screamed again._

" _She's a fighter!" the man yelled back, dragging Natalia along behind him._

" _She's a six-year-old!"_

 _The man muttered something she didn't understand under his breath before scooping her up and continuing to run. Natalia kicked and fought with everything she had, screaming all the while. The man tried to hush her by putting his hand over her mouth. She was having none of it. She bit down with everything she had._ _The man yelled out and one of her kicks finally hit home. Properly home. His grip weakened and she tumbled to the ground, quickly scrambling to her feet and back towards the flames._

"You beat me in hand-to-hand combat long before you became the Black Widow." Nick said with a wry smile.

"Before they made me the Black Widow, using the serum my mother designed." She said bitterly.

Nick nodded, "I think it was some cruel victory for them, using the serum she created on the daughter she loved more than anything." He gripped her shoulder and squeezed as a slumbering rage flickered to life within her.

"My parents died in the fire then." When Nick replied in the affirmative, she nodded. "Well at least that really was a memory." Some small comfort. "What happened to my sister?"

"Carter took her to England; she grew up in the care of one of her cousins. Grew into nothing short of a genius but proved to have something of a delinquent streak in her. But we have an agreement: I don't bother her and she doesn't bother me." He said, his lips set in a borderline tolerant expression. "Unless she messes with nukes. Then we have a problem."

"She's alive?" Nat asked. She did a double take for a moment, "Wait, nukes?"

He handed her a thick folder. "Your sister's file. It's quite the page-turner."

She sighed, accepting the folder. They sat in silence for several minutes, watching the sun lower in the sky. "Why did Carter say that you'd made the right choice, what did she mean?"

"You'd been active for four years before we got a clear image of your face. The second I saw you, I knew who you were."

"So you put out a kill order on me." Fire flashed through her eyes.

"The World Security Council put a kill order on you. _I_ sent Barton after you; a rookie agent with an infuriating propensity for disobeying orders who defined himself by his second chance. I gave you the best chance I could." He shook his head sadly. "Losing you to the KGB gnawed at Peggy for the rest of her career. She considered it her greatest failure. When I told her you'd resurfaced… Well, there was never any doubt that I was going to do everything in my power to bring you in alive. What happened after that would be up to you but I owed it to you to give you that chance."

"She was the Big Bad Wolf from the Red Room's fairy-tales… and yet all these years…" Nat was reeling; her fingers were clenched white-knuckled around the stone of the bench in an effort to ground herself. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"She didn't want you to know, she felt responsible for all that you'd suffered. And I was ashamed. You had been my responsibility that night and I failed you..." Nick trailed off momentarily, "Added to which there was so much you didn't remember or the Red Room had messed with in your head…" Nat grunted in understanding. The first four years after joining SHIELD had not been without their challenges. "I kept her updated on your progress though, at least until the dementia began to take hold. I think it gave her some peace to know you broke their conditioning in a way Underwood never could."

Underwood. The legendary hero from the glory days of the Soviet Empire. The original agent in whose image she had been shaped. She suppressed a shudder at the cost of that image.

"So what happens now?" She asked, her gaze returning swollen red sun hovering above the horizon.

Fury let out a sharp bark of laughter. "We just channelled a sewage pipe at a tornado. Now we clean up. SHIELD has fallen but there's still a lot of good people, our people, out there left in limbo. Barton among them."

Nat nodded, he had been undercover in Marrakech for the last two months. Given that he hadn't checked in since SHIELD's fall, she could only assume that things had gone south for him. "I'll go rescue the Damsel, then get to work salvaging what we can."

* * *

A/N well I hope you enjoyed this second chapter. With regards to Irena, I entertain a little headcannon that Natalie Dormer's Irene Adler (and everything that entails, including a certain JM) is Natasha's long lost sister. So for me, in this fic, that's who Irena became, but you can take or leave that as you wish. The next chapter may not be out for another week or so but in the meantime let me know what you think/any ideas you may have.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint groaned as he returned his head to the midline after it had yet again been punched around to one side. Couldn't they try something different? His neck was getting sore. They didn't even need to try something original, just a blow to the solar plexus would make a nice change. He winced and spat out a small glob of blood. Thankfully he still had a full mouthful of teeth; SHIELD's benefits programme didn't cover dental work.

Suddenly the tirade of angry Arabic stopped as a distant boom vibrated throughout the complex. It was followed after a heartbeat by gunfire. The shots stopped as quickly as they started. The corner of his mouth quirked up in half a smirk; he had a sneaky suspicion what, or rather who, had been responsible.

Now they could hear screams, screams which were getting closer. As was more gunfire. His captors shouted quickly to six of their guards for them to defend the corridor. As the gunfire closed in, Clint chuckled quietly to himself. Then he remembered their tally: Tasha had a four point lead. He felt a thrill of adrenaline, hell no was he letting her make it five. He threw his weight over to one side, taking the chair to which he was tied with him. The wooden legs cracked with the force and with a bit of shimmying he had both his lower limbs free.

Without a second lost, he swung his legs around and swept one of the men to the floor. Nat was right, gymnastics really was great for his core. His hands still cuffed behind his back, he looped the short length of rope around the man's neck and pulled. Unfortunately, this was also the moment that he heard the click of a pistol being cocked and felt the cold metal of the muzzle being pressed to his temple.

"Let him go." The second man said in cold, calm Arabic. Reluctantly, Clint released the other man, who spluttered loudly before scrambling to his feet. Unable to move without risking being shot, Clint remained where he was, listening to rapidly silenced shouts and gunshots from the corridor. Underneath the din, he found he could hear the high pitched squeal of what sounded like poorly oiled wheels. How mysterious.

And so it was that when the doors burst open, Nat found him sitting on the floor, hands still cuffed behind his back, with two guns pointed at his head.

"Move and we-" His captor didn't get a chance to finish. Without breaking her stride, Nat dispatched each man with a perfect headshot.

While Clint shook his head to rid his ears of fresh ringing, she revealed the source of the squealing sound: a beat-up, rusting wheelchair. He rolled his eyes at the thought of her pushing that thing through an entire compound of hostiles.

"Get in loser, we're going shopping." She winked and patted the seat of the chair.

"Honestly, Nat, you could've at least let the man finish his sentence." Clint said with an exaggerated sigh, shuffling his ass closer to his feet so that he could boost himself into a standing position. Nat just looked at him with a raised eyebrow, taking in his bruised, swollen face. "I was working on an escape plan, another half hour and I'd have been outta here." He said. It was a blatant lie, and she wasn't even close to convinced.

"Sure, Tinkerbell. However, given you're still in cuffs, I'm claiming this as a rescue. 17-12." Her lips twisted into a smug smile. "This is quite the impressive lead I'm building isn't it?"

He grimaced at the thought. It would be a very long time before he managed to pass the title of Damsel back to her. "I don't need a wheelchair." He grumbled in a mock sulky voice. She kicked it to the side as he turned around so she could unlock the cuffs.

"You good?" She asked with quiet concern. He winced and flexed his arms now that they were free.

"A bit banged up but we've had worse." He replied. She was looking him up and down with a critical eye. Her gaze lingered over his mess of a face. One eye was almost swollen shut, his lip was split and he was fairly sure his nose was broken. "I'll admit my face has seen better days." He said wryly.

"I hadn't noticed." She said innocently. "That face was never your best feature anyway."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "So where are we going shopping? Somewhere cold I hope, I mean I know you like eyeballing my abs but this is a little excessive." His t-shirt was so soaked in sweat he could have won a wet t-shirt contest in any sleazy bar in Williamsburg.

She raked a finger over his stomach. "Be careful what you wish for."

* * *

Clint stamped his feet like a pouty child. "Seriously?! Russia?! In the middle of winter?! You know you could have just read me the story about that guy with the golden touch! Or rewatched Freaky Friday! Anything that didn't involve Russia or snow!" He kicked a pile of snow bitterly. " _Be careful what you wish for_ " He said in a high pitched whine, making a mouth out of his hand for dramatic effect.

Nat cuffed him over the back of the head.

"Ow." He muttered before shouldering his duffel bag and jogging to catch up.

* * *

They reached Samara late morning. Clint watched Nat closely as they trudged down the main street. Her eyes scanned the road and the buildings, as though willing them to recognise her, to trigger some memory to welcome her home. Judging by her lack of expression, all that greeted her was stony silence.

Before long they stood before a small church. Its grounds were surrounded by chain-link fence. The hinges on the gate squealed as she pushed it open but otherwise the only sound was the rustle of the wind through the leaves of a yew tree. Clint couldn't have said how long they spent walking with arms linked between the rows of headstones, their feet crunching in the snow. But after a time Nat stopped suddenly. A sharp intake of breath told him they'd found what they came for. He looked closer at the words on the little headstone, lightly dusted by snow, and waited with baited breath as Nat crouched down to brush the crisp layer of frost away. Once the words were clearer, her hand remained on the smooth stone.

There were four names engraved; Misha Romanov, Yelena Romanova, Natalia Romanova, Irena Romanova. They were alone in the stone with no dates or sentiment added. He wondered who had commissioned this headstone, 26 years ago.

Nat's knuckles blended with the white of the snow as she gripped the headstone, her heart thumping like a drum in her chest. She had come here because if she hadn't, she would always have wondered; wondered about the reality that remained in the wake of Fury's story, wondered what remained of the life that might have been. And now she knew. The pieces within her memories fell into place, solidifying into a hollow loss, tinged with relief.

Grief welled within her and a painful lump formed in her throat. She leaned forward, letting the headstone take some of her weight.

"They were real." She whispered. She closed her eyes as Clint squeezed her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Nat." He said quietly.

"Don't be." She sighed, pulling up a couple of weeds that had survived the snow, "I'm just glad they didn't live long enough to see what I became."

"You mean a hero? Deceiver of gods? Avenger, protector of Earth?" He replied, refusing to allow her to be dragged back towards her own dark tendencies.

She snorted softly. "I think you mean traitor to the motherland. And he was only a demi-god. Definitely a small 'g'."

"Sure, you defected, but your mom also betrayed the motherland. Who knew that flipping off regimes was hereditary?" He elbowed her ribs playfully.

She rolled her eyes. "Just don't tell Tony; he'll spend the next decade trying to isolate the gene responsible." She reached out to brush an icing of snow from a few snowdrops that took shelter beside the headstone. She stood. "Come on," she said, "we don't have long."

Leaving the town behind them, they made their way along one of the forest trails. It seemed to him that with every step they took, Nat's feet dragged a little more and her breathing became shakier. "You don't have to do this." He said quietly, "We've seen the headstone, we know the truth of it, why torture yourself?"

"It was my home." She said softly. "How could I not?"

Clint let his silence signal his understanding.

After a few more minutes of walking, the trail opened into a fairly large clearing. Just off its centre, what looked like a mound of rubble nestled in the snow. As he looked more closely, he was able to pick out the shape of crumbled walls; in some areas the stones still bore traces of blackening from a long extinguished fire. The trees lining the clearing stood as solemn sentinels, bearing witness.

Natasha stopped, allowing her gaze to sweep over it all, waiting for her brain to reconcile the memories of a six year old with what lay before her. As she looked around, she felt a strange emptiness. It had been a mistake coming here; what had she expected? Her only clear memory of her family had been the fire that had consumed their home. She had always thought herself a realist. Of course the house wouldn't have survived a fire of that ferocity.

But apparently even she hadn't been immune to hope. Somehow she had still harboured childish dreams that the little house had remained intact over the years. That she might walk through it, uncovering long forgotten happy memories.

Those dreams evaporated as she took in the scorched, broken stones.

"Nat?"

Her eyes refocused as Clint said her name, and she realised that she must have been standing in silence for several minutes.

"Let's go back, love." He murmured, nudging her back the way they came.

She nodded absentmindedly; he was right, she shouldn't have come. She turned to leave, then started, flinching a little: she could hear the laughter of a young child.

Looking this way and that, she whirled around, trying to identify the source of the giggles.

"Tasha?" Clint asked, clearly concerned. She shushed him.

 _A girl giggled uncontrollably, trying to run away from her father. Running is of course much more difficult when one is giggling uncontrollably. The sensation only made her laugh harder as she ran through the trees, checking over her shoulder to see how quickly Papa was gaining on her._

Clint watched carefully as Natasha's eyes glazed slightly. Seeing something that wasn't there, she made for the other side of the clearing, angling further up the hill.

 _The girl shrieked in excitement, charging forward gleefully_

 _Natalia screamed again and laughed as her father's arms swept her up and whirled her around. Stopping, he blew a raspberry on her forehead but she squirmed away, instead twisting to wrap her legs around his stomach and her arms around his shoulder. She clung to his back like a monkey, giggling as he accepted his role as pack-pony._

Turning back, her eyes drifted over the blackened stones, her brows knitted. "No." She muttered. "No." A shake of the head. She set her jaw. "This will not be their memorial." And without another word she reached down for one of the lighter stones.

She set off determinedly up the hill through the trees, some long buried memory guiding her feet through the undergrowth. Snow crunched underfoot, the sound quickly absorbed by the watching trees. Natasha's pace quickened; she was unusually heedless of the sticks that snapped beneath her footsteps, or the undergrowth that snagged on her clothing.

After several hundred meters they emerged into a clearing overlooking the valley below. It was a rare day, crisp but sunny, with clear blue skies in every direction.

"Wow." Clint breathed out in amazement, momentarily stunned. Natasha nodded in agreement.

Then she turned again, her eyes still watching something that remained hidden to his own.

 _Her mother walked out from the treeline, Irena held on her hip. She smiled. "Misha, dear, you can't complain your back hurts when you let that girl use you as a climbing frame."_

 _Natalia stuck her tongue out as Mama kissed her father's cheek._

She looked back down over the valley and took a deep, shuddering breath. She had no words.

After a moment she stepped up to the edge of cliff and put the stone down. Then with grim determination, she turned back down the hill through trees to get another one. And another one. And another. Until eventually she had built a little cairn.

Clint had tried to help, but she had stopped him with a gentle "No, let me do this."

When she was done, she sat down beside the cairn. When Clint sat next to her, she leaned against him. Her gaze settled over the valley. "This is how I choose to remember them."


End file.
